Had it not been, in short, for the puzzled feeling of surprise and wonder which the unaccountable manner of his introduction to the intimacy of Miss Martin Thorpe occasioned him, Major Heathcote would have enjoyed the unwonted variety which his visit afforded; but upon this point not a syllable had been spoken, either in the way of explanation or remark, and happy would Sophia have been, could she have known how totally and entirely her name had been omitted during their conversation.
As to Mrs. Heathcote and Florence, the case was different. On finding themselves alone in the drawing-room, it had occurred to them both at the same moment, that the best atonement which could be made to Frederic and Stephen for having been banished altogether from the dining-room, would be to have them in there till Miss Martin Thorpe made her appearance.
“May I ring the bell, mamma?”.... said Florence.
Yes, dear... I think we may venture. If she pops in upon us before the gentlemen, you must run off with them,” said Mrs Heathcote. —
The bell was answered by Jem, who received orders to desire Mrs. Barnes to send the two boys into the drawing-room; the result of which was, that Mrs. Barnes immediately entered there herself, leading a child in each hand.
And then, most certainly, something like gossip ensued, and from a quarter where poor Miss Martin Thorpe the least expected it. For so thoroughly was she convinced that she had bribed the housekeeper to silence, by means of high wages, confidential importance, and the promise of great preferment to her niece, that she believed herself safe with her, upon the surest of all principles, self-interest It may often happen, perhaps, that similar calculations prove equally erroneous; but never were any more completely so, than these respecting Mrs. Barnes. She hated Miss Martin Thorpe with all her heart and soul. It was not exactly with the same species of hatred as that which flourished under the same roof towards poor Florence, and indeed towards all her race, in the gloomy heart of her dry, hard, calculating, avaricious young mistress; for Heaven knows, that there was no mixture of envy in it. Mrs. Barnes would more readily have agreed to transmigrate herself into a toad, than into Miss Martin Thorpe. But she hated her with the most complete contempt and scorn that it is well possible for one human being to feel for another. She hated her for the vile little cajoleries by which she had gained the estate; she hated her for the monstrous and most premature avarice, by which she sought to augment it; she hated her more still, for the giving way of that avarice before her own detestable desire for self-gratification; and she hated her most of all, for daring to suppose that she had the power of purchasing the good-will of one who for nearly forty years had been the honoured, trusted, servant of her generous uncle, by any paltry advantage which her own interest induced her to bestow or to promise.
The feelings produced by the conduct of Sophia to the Heathcote family added, more or less, to every separate count in the indictment against her; and there was no point in her ungrateful hostess’s character, upon which Mrs. Heathcote remained ignorant, concerning which it was in the power of Mrs. Barnes to enlighten her.
“Don’t vex about your dear boys, ma’am,” were the good-natured housekeeper’s first words as she entered the drawing-room. “They hav’nt been a bit the worse for her nasty ways this time. There was sweetmeats about, and I took care they should have their share, bless ’em.”
“You are very kind, Mrs. Barnes.... very kind to us all; and we all feel it, I assure you,” said Mrs. Heathcote, with half a tear in her laughing blue eye; “but I do assure you that I had much rather the children had nothing given them beyond what she allows us all. They have never been much used to sweetmeats, and even if they had, it is but for a short time, you know, and cannot make any great difference.”
“No, ma’am, nor it can’t make no great difference in Miss Martin Thorpe’s housekeeping either. And it is no use to talk, Mrs. Heathcote, as I believe, ma’am, I have told you before. It is no use for me to pretend to do, what do I cannot. I could no more go on cramming that greedy, hard-hearted, little body with all the nice things I can think of, and never contrive to have a bit fit for you and yours when I can find an opportunity, than I could fly. But you may set your conscience to rest, ma’am, about all I do for the dear children, or you either, or the Major, or dear Miss Florence, bless her! If it was ten times more it would be all gain and profit for Miss Martin Thorpe. I have told you so before, Mrs. Heathcote, and I tell you so again. Miss Martin Thorpe could not keep me in my place, if she was to try to hold me with wild horses, after you was gone... no, nor Nancy either. The girl has seen enough of her, and loves her nigh about as well as I do. And you may take my word for it, Mrs. Heathcote, that the next housekeeper Miss Martin Thorpe gets will no more keep up her own greedy table, without bringing up the bills to almost double mine, than she’ll fly. Servants, of course, don’t understand two ways of going on, in the same house; and where ladies choose to have such a table for their own private boudoir, as our Miss keeps, you may depend upon it, that there will be a letting out in other things. Not that I want to boast of my honesty in no way; for I dare say that I’m not in reality a bit more honest than the rest as have been brought up as decently as myself.... But I do believe, Mrs. Heathcote, that my pride it is that keeps me so strict in all I do for her. It goes against me to think as I shall have to take her wages; and as to trying to get any of her dirty money by tricking her, I should scorn it.”
“I am quite sure that nobody would manage her house so carefully as you do, Mrs. Barnes, notwithstanding you take such good care of us,” replied Mrs. Heathcote. “But do tell me, if you can, something about the strange gentleman that dined here to-day. Who is Mr. Jenkins?”
“Upon my word, ma’am, that is a question I cannot answer, returned the housekeeper very gravely. “So close as Miss Martin Thorpe is in all her ways, never even inviting her favourites the Brandenberrys, except, as you know, ma’am, once or twice to tea, and that as long ago, as before you come; so very close as she is, it is the wonder of wonders to me, how her heart comes to be so open to this gentleman. I hav’n’t got a sight of him yet, but the men servants, and Mrs. Roberts too, who saw him when she answered the boudoir bell, they do say he is the queerest looking chap that ever coined out of a nobleman’s house. And for that reason, I concludes she can’t be in love with him, though for that matter I don’t believe she’ll ever prove much of a loving nature to any man living. But something there must be between ’em, she keeping him shut up in her dressing-room all that time.... And then again making such an unaccountable fuss with him again to-day, and he coming unexpected too, which I should have thought would have been enough to drive her mad at any time.... It is altogether a most remarkable mystery.”
“I think so, too,” replied Mrs. Heathcote, “and if the gentleman had a little more the manner of a lover I should certainly be tempted to think, notwithstanding what you say against it, that she had a fancy for him. He may be a rich man, Mrs. Barnes, for anything we know to the contrary... and if you had seen how the ring sparkled that he wanted to give Florence at dinner today, you would not think it at all unlikely. I did not see it very near, but I think it was a diamond, was it not, Florence?”
“I believe so, mamma,” replied the young lady, suspending for a moment the game of cat’s cradle which she was playing with Frederic, “but to confess the truth, I do not understand much about diamonds.”
“Nay, ma’am, if the gentleman is rich,” said Mrs. Barnes, “that makes all the difference in the world. But the men did not seem to describe him that way. If I thought he was rich, and inclined to marry Miss Martin Thorpe, I should not feel the least bit of doubt in the world but what she would accept of him.... he coming from the Castle, too, along with my Lord.... for if my guess is right a Lord counts for something with our young lady as well as a purse.”
“Well! we shall see, Mrs. Barnes, how it all turns out,” replied Mrs. Heathcote, “and now I think we had better not keep you any longer. I will send the little boys out to you again as so
on as Sophia comes down stairs to receive this gentleman.”
The housekeeper then took her departure, and for about half an hour the children were as happy as their mother and sister could contrive to make them in a fine drawing-room, where every article was a “TOUCH ME NOT,” and where the fear of “cousin Sophy” was incessantly before their eyes.
At the end of that time Major Heathcote and Mr. Jenkins joined them; and then, not even the constitutional tranquillity of Mrs. Heathcote could prevent her hurrying the children away with a degree of bustling haste which spoke plainly enough her anxiety that they should not be seen there. Florence, who fully shared the feeling, snatched a little hand in each of hers, and was leading them with all speed from the room, when Mr. Jenkins stopped her by saying, “Why do you run away with the little fellows, at such a rate, my dear?.... Do you fancy that I don’t like little boys?.... You are quite mistaken there.... They may stay a little while longer, may they not, madam?”
Mrs. Heathcote, to whom this was addressed, replied with some little embarrassment, “You are very kind, sir. But I believe it is quite their bed time.... and their cousin, that is, I mean, Miss Martin Thorpe, is not particularly fond of children.”
“Oh! ha!.... That’s the state of the case, is it?.... Then pray let them go at once. I would not vex Miss Martin Thorpe.... Oh! dear me, no! not for all the world! Good night, my dears, good night! Runaway as fast as ever you can trot, there’s darlings.... and take care never to stay, and never to go, never to move, and never to speak, in any way that Miss Sophia Martin Thorpe does not approve.”
There was something in the tone and manner of this speech that sounded so much like quizzing that the Heathcotes knew not well what to make of it, till it occurred to them all at the same moment, upon seeing the queer grimace, accompanied with snapping his fingers, with which Mr. Jenkins turned away, and walked towards the fire, that he condemned them all, as being too servilely obedient to their rich relation. Florence blushed as she executed her intention of leaving the room; Mrs. Heathcote looked vexed, and almost ready to cry; and the Major, after meditating upon it all for about two minutes, came to the conclusion that it did not signify a farthing.... that his troublesome ward would be off his hands in a few months, when he would take them all back to Bamboo Cottage and independence.
At this moment Miss Martin Thorpe entered the room; but though she knew that he whom she considered as the diamond king, if not the king of diamonds, was there, she could not entirely chase from her brow the frown which had settled on it, upon meeting the two little boys at the very door.
“Charming little fellows, those, Miss Sophy,” said her new friend, coming up very close to her, and peering in her face. “I dare say you spoil them. Come, confess, don’t you spoil those two beautiful little boys by your over indulgence? I am quite sure you dote upon them.”
Both Major Heathcote and his innocent wife felt as much confounded at this mal à propos speech as if they had been conscious of having recounted to Mr. Jenkins the whole history of the total banishment from her presence, in which Miss Martin Thorpe generally contrived to keep the poor little rogues whom she was now so jocosely accused of spoiling by over indulgence.
They both looked at her to see how she took it; and, as it happened, she looked at them. A whole volume could not have explained her feelings more plainly. She was perfectly sure they had been complaining of her, and looked her love accordingly.
But this emotion, powerful as it was, could not for above a moment subdue her resolute purpose of cultivating the friendship of Mr. Jenkins, and she said civil things to him with unceasing perseverance, till he suddenly jumped up, and exclaimed, “Good night to you all! It is time to be off.” And had very nearly escaped from the room before Miss Martin Thorpe could stop him. She succeeded, however, in slipping in between him and the door, while she said, “But how are you going, my dear sir? Have you a carriage, or horses here?”
“I never ride in a carriage, if I can help it, Miss Sophy, and I never ride upon more horses than one at a time. But there is one that I always know where to find when I want him — so good night, my dear. Don’t you be uneasy about me.... there is no occasion.”
Once more the active little man endeavoured to make his way to the door; and once more Miss Martin Thorpe stopped him. “When shall I have the great pleasure of seeing you again?” said she.
“When I come to renew my acquaintance with all the old rooms,” he replied.
“I hope that will be very soon!” said the lady.
“I dare say it will, my dear!” returned the gentleman.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Among other little personal pettings, Miss Martin Thorpe was rather fond of indulging in sleep; never rising before that last sweet morning nap, which so many persons appear to consider as the most delicious portion of their repose, probably because stolen from the day — and rarely failing to go to bed, as soon as her eyelids gave her warning that it would be agreeable to do so.
The night which followed the dinner visit of Mr. Jenkins, was however spent differently. On reaching her luxurious chamber, Sophia, though weary enough, felt no inclination, or rather no power to sleep. Having put on her dressing-gown, therefore, she dismissed her maid, and locking her door, sat herself down to very earnest meditation.
There was food enough for it in the events of that day. The amiliar visit, which argued a decided liking for her; the diamond ring which spoke so plainly of treasures yet to give; the act of offering it to another, which threatened the frightful danger that the rich stream of this stranger’s unexampled bounty might flow from herself to others; and, lastly, the terrific fear that Florence, the detested Florence, and her hateful race, should step between her and her golden friend, sapping his affection for her, and seizing upon his favour in her stead.
“It shall not be!” — she exclaimed to herself in the silence of night. “I have succeeded once in working my way to the object I had in view, and rather would I die than they should baffle me now!”
Restless, feverish, uncertain as to what she could and what she should do, in order to prevent the mischief she feared, she walked to and fro in her handsome, ample boudoir, without haying a thought to spare on its elegance or its comfort. A gnawing, miserable, feeling of anxiety had taken possession of her; Florence Heathcote, with the bright lovely blush which beamed upon her charming face when she refused the ring, rose palpably before her, and no hideous, opium-raised monster, that ever racked disordered nerves, wore an aspect more abhorrent. Sophia placed her hands before her eyes, as if that could keep the detested object from her.... but it was all in vain; she saw, she felt it still.
“They shall leave me! they shall leave me!” she exclaimed. “I will not nurture and nourish thus the thing that stings me!... And the charming little fellows,’ so artfully brought forward for his notice.... how do I know but that before a week is over I may see them, too, sparkling and bedecked with gems? Gems which were all, — all, originally intended for me?.... If I patiently sit still and see it, see myself robbed, defrauded, cheated, tricked, if I sit still and bear it, may worse than death repay me for my folly, and my sin!”
One hour past midnight sounded from the clock in the stable-yard. She listened, and all within the house was still.... and then she opened the precious cabinet, and once again devoured with her eyes the string of pearls, which had so completely turned her head and taken possession of her heart. No heroine, immortalized in black and white, ever yielded at that witching hour, to a more complete abandonment of all her thoughts, and all her feelings to one dear object, than did Sophia as she twined and twisted the precious beads about her hands. That the man who could part with them, as Mr. Jenkins had done, was insane, she felt more nearly convinced at that still moment of meditative examination than she had ever been before; but the madness was of a kind so richly to reward the watchers and the keepers who attended on it, that she felt as if without scruple she could have bound herself to the charge for life. Not as a
wife, however; let her not be mistaken. The passion which engrossed her was not a blind passion. There are other loves which may aptly enough be painted blind, but avarice has a thousand eyes, and rarely mistakes one object for another. Could Sophia indeed have been assured, upon sound legal authority, that she should obtain by a statute of lunacy the uncontrolled management of Mr. Timothy Jenkins’ affairs, within six months after she married him, the generous maniac had only need to prove that he was, as he had assured her, “very rich,” in order to make her vow that she would love, honour, and obey him to the last hour of her life. But no such assurance being within her reach, no thoughts of marriage mixed with her speculations; an open field, with no hateful Heathcotes to watch, mar, or rival her operations upon the fancy of the way-ward man, was all she asked of Fate; but convinced that Fate rarely works for any, without perceiving in them a spirit of industry to assist her, she finally resolved to set about the removal of her guardian’s family without delay. She distinctly remembered having, years before, heard of a young lady’s changing her guardian; what had been done once, might of course be done again. She doubted not that the Brandenberrys would be able to tell her what the legal process was, and for such a quarrel as might naturally lead to it, she trusted to her own skill to bring it about... Thus settled in her purpose for the future, she first laid her pearls to rest, and then herself, and nothing more happened to disturb either for the remainder of the night.
The following morning was one on which a visit from the Brandenberry brother and sister was all but certain, inasmuch as she had not seen them for two whole days; and few things could be less probable than that a third should be permitted to pass away without their coming to bring their usual offering of admiration, devotion, and love. Sophia therefore stirred not from her boudoir, even to walk into her kitchen-garden (the part of her grounds in which she most delighted) in order to see how many cabbages bad been cut from their stalks since the day before.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 315
